Phil Primeau


The Day I Decided To Quit Drinking (Again)

I wake up too early. Dawn breaks smooth and opaque like sea glass. It falls in broad white brush strokes through the storm windows. November again.

I call you and ask if you got the message I left last night. You tell me that I never called. I say that I thought I did. You tell me no. Alright.

Throw on jeans, throw on a stained t-shirt and my green John Deere sweatshirt. Breakfast at the donut shop where Main meets Division. While I eat, the parade begins to build outside. At the field down the road, the stands are filling. Only our guys are there yet.

An hour later and it’s all underway, coming to my thick head as cool collage. The drunk kids in the parking lot, the boney men with trucker hats on, the flag snapping in the chilly breeze. A real honest day.

I never stand for the national anthem but today the home team is an American ribbon stretching down midfield. There’s a fresh tin of dip in my pocket and the sun is pretty close for late fall. I’ve got ten bucks in my wallet. This kid in a red Power Rangers shirt watches me with blue eyes. Oh say can you see?

 
 
 
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